


Sub Rosa

by hermionesmydawg (orphan_account)



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-23 02:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3751126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/hermionesmydawg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marty Deeks knows he's made mistakes in the past, but has always tried to do the right thing in life. His past as a public defender and his history with Roger Bates intersects with the present as the Internal Affairs investigation progresses and interferes with his duties at NCIS. (Season 6 speculation/alternate ending)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I rarely put my head canons into fiction format, but wasn't able to stop myself this time. Hopefully by the end of this season we'll actually have some backstory on Marty Deeks, so I had to write this before everything in my head is proved to be false. This is purely speculation and in no way is going to actually happen on the show. Please take note of dates, as I like to skip around a bit. There is some Deeks/Kensi in this story, but the main focus is on everyone's favorite detective. Thanks to aprylynn and closetdensishipper for yelling at me.
> 
> As usual, I own nothing related to NCIS Los Angeles or CBS or anything cool, really. I do own my car, but it's pretty old and I'd actually like to get a new one.
> 
> [sub rosa: latin, meaning under the rose; an emblem of secrecy]

_**November 8, 2006** _

_He stepped into the small, confined space and pulled a pack of wet wipes out of his suit pocket. It wasn't like he was a germophobe, but really - pay phones were disgusting. Wiping down the receiver and numbers, he tossed the wipe on top of the phone and punched in a phone number that he now had memorized. This would make the third week in a row that he had dialed it, always from a different disgusting payphone. Making a face, he cradled the ear piece in between his shoulder and ear and waited for the usual monotone voice to answer._

_"Los Angeles Police Department Operator, how may I direct your call?"_

_"Detective Roger Bates, please," he answered._

_"One moment." He fiddled with the cord while he waited, then made a a gagging noise when he realized he didn't wipe it down before touching it._

_The connection opened up and a cranky voice sounded through the phone. "Bates."_

_"I'd like to report some suspicious activities," he said, the same as always._

_A muffled scratch rattled in his ear as Bates disappeared for a moment. He tapped his foot impatiently and turned his body further inward towards the phone. There were more muffled scratches, then Bates returned. "What is it this time, kid?"_

_He rolled his eyes at the kid comment, seeing as how he barely even got to act like a kid when he actually was one. "Blue building on North Highland. Next Tuesday, possible drop off for weapons and drugs from Mexico."_

_"You got an address?"_

_"You want me to do all of the work for you?"_

_Bates bristled. "What kind of drugs?"_

_He ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "Marijuana. Focus on the weapons."_

_Bates chuckled. "Sounds like you_ are _trying to do my job."_

_"Touché." He looked around nervously, suddenly feeling as if he was being watched. "Anyway. Nice chat. Gotta go."_

_"Good talk. See you in a few minutes."_

_"What?" He froze, gripping the phone tighter. Groaning, he turned around in the phone booth and was met with glares from two uniformed LAPD officers. "Well, shit."_

* * *

_Marty Deeks didn't intimidate easily. Most of his days were spent with people that were on the wrong side of the law, by choice. He could have decided to be a prosecutor instead of a public defender, but he thought his calling in law was to help people that others might consider to be a lost cause. Not all of his clients wanted to help themselves unfortunately, but he tried to defend even the worst of criminals to the best of his abilities._

_Despite his strong constitution, Detective Bates' stare was making him feel a little hairy. The interrogation room at LAPD Headquarters wasn't helping matters, either. It had been a long time since he'd been brought in for questioning here. Past memories of these types of rooms weren't very happy._

_Marty was really trying not to look squirrelly, but that damn Bates was giving him the silent treatment. Should he put his hands on the table, or his now empty pockets? That was insulting to him, by the way, being patted down like a criminal. At least he had his concealed carry permit for his ankle-holstered Glock in his wallet. That could have been ugly._

_He finally broke the uncomfortable silence. "Why am I here, again?"_

_Bates closed the small file in front of him. "For questioning."_

_"Yeah, that's what I thought, but you aren't actually asking me any questions. Do you have telepathic interrogation powers? If so, that's awesome, just let me know when you're done."_

_The smallest smile crossed Bates' face before he replaced it with a stern expression. "You're a bit of a smartass."_

_Marty shrugged. "Better than being a dumbass."_

_Bates sighed. "Enough of the banter."_

_"But banter is my middle name."_

_"Okay, I'm finally starting to believe you actually are a public defender," Bates said, annoyed. "At first I didn't believe my eyes, because you look like a USC beach bum. But you talk out of your ass like a lawyer, so I guess you're legit."_

_Marty narrowed his eyes briefly but let the insult slide off of his back. He knew he was getting under the detective's skin, which was his intention all along. "I was thinking of growing a beard actually, you think that might help-"_

_"Where are you getting your information about the shipments from Mexico?" Bates interrupted._

_"See, you could have just started with that. But instead you wanted to try some voodoo mind trick shit to try to intimidate me." Marty crossed his hands on the table in front of him._

_"Answer the question."_

_"I have no idea what you're talking about," he answered coolly._

_"You know exactly what I'm talking about."_

_"Do I?" Very subtly, he glanced up at the cameras mounted in the corners of the room, and the mirrored glass behind Detective Bates. "You might as well be speaking Portuguese right now."_

_Bates leaned back in his metal chair and stared Marty down again, tapping a single finger on the wooden table between them. The two had a mental standoff for a few minutes until the detective finally relented. "Fine. Let's take a walk."_

* * *

_Marty nearly ended up with a face full of hot coffee as Bates sputtered in disbelief. "Your client."_

_"Yes, sir." Marty took a sip of his own coffee, even though it tasted like shit. He must have gotten spoiled from his usual morning cappuccino, because the day old swill from the Gang and Narcotics Division coffeemaker tasted more like human butthole than java. They didn't take much of a walk per se, but at least he wasn't being recorded as they talked in Bates' cubicle._

_"I guess attorney client privilege is more of a concept than a truth to you, then?"_

_Marty shook his head. "Privilege only applies to information knowingly shared between a lawyer and his client. Everything I've told you has been overheard during phone conversations in my presence, and is therefore not protected."_

_"So this client of yours," Bates said, placing his coffee cup on his desk. "He just talks cartel-"_

_"I've never mentioned the word cartel."_

_"You didn't have to," he counters back. "But fine. He just discusses these things in front of you?"_

_"Yes. For some reason he and his amigos don't think that I can speak Spanish." Marty took another painful sip of coffee. "Pero yo soy de Los Angeles, por supuesto que hablo español."_

_Bates nodded in understanding and opened the file he was fiddling with in the interrogation room. It seemed to be more of a way for him to gather his thoughts than him actually reading the information in front of him. Whatever works for him, Marty thought._

_"Does this client have a name?"_

_"Everybody has a name. Or two, or three."_

_"How about just a last name?" Bates asked with a scowl._

_Marty felt uncomfortable all of a sudden, but went along. "Serrano. He's a nobody in the grand scheme of things. His only purpose is his familiarity with the city and it's people, and in exchange for that awareness he gets an early peek at the merchandise."_

_"Why are you doing this, Mr. Deeks?" Bates raised his eyes to meet try to meet Marty's, but the young lawyer was avoiding them._

_He stared into his coffee cup. "Sometimes you just have to do the right thing."_

_"Is that what you do? Justify breaking the rules because it's for the greater good?"_

_"I can walk right now," Marty threatened quietly. "Tell my client and his buddies that I saw some cops following them, make sure they watch their back so you can never catch them."_

_"Nah." Bates shook his head. "I don't think you'd do that. You're one of the good guys. But you would take things into your own hands though, wouldn't you?"_

_Bates was right, on all counts. It seemed that Bates already knew him better than he would like. Before he could protest further, a manila file folder is plopped in front of him. "Martin Deeks, formerly Martin Brandel. Juvenile records are sealed but this wasn't too hard to find. You got into a lot of trouble as a kid - shoplifting, fights, even shooting your own father-"_

_"That was self-defense," Marty interrupted through gritted teeth._

_"I can read," Bates snarked back. "But you cleaned up, went to college, law school. Paid in full. Now you defend people. You volunteer for extra cases, especially those involving kids. It'a a pretty impressive turn-around."_

_"What's the point of this history lesson?"_

_"I wanted to check your credibility, see how trustworthy you are as an informant."_

_Marty wrung his hands together. "I'm not your informant."_

_"If that helps you sleep at night, son." Bates finished off his coffee and placed his cup, an old ceramic mug with a faded Fort Huachuca emblem on it, behind his phone. "Enough chit chat, Deeks. I trust your intel, and for some unknown reason I think I might actually trust you, too."_

_"Is that supposed to be reassuring?"_

_"You can take it as a compliment if you want," Bates said dryly. "Anything you have to share, you speak only to me and I will personally guarantee that no one knows where it came from. I'll arrange for paperwork explaining why you were brought in for questioning today, you'll sign a sworn statement denying any knowledge or involvement. We'll set up a more secure way to share information. And we'll protect you if you need it. If you're not up for it, you can walk away and I'll forget I ever saw you."_

_A twinge of unexplainable guilt pained his chest, because no matter how strongly he felt that this was something he needed to do, he still couldn't fight the feeling that it was wrong. Surely Detective Bates had to feel the same way, but he was guided by the same convictions that he was - justice. Soft yet firm, Marty gave his answer. "I'm in."_

_Bates nodded and and eyed him carefully. "This isn't personal for you, is it?"_

_Marty shook his head slowly and sighed. "No."_

* * *

**March 23, 2015**

The ride home from work that night was quiet. Too quiet, really, because it meant that both Deeks and Kensi were so lost in thought that they didn't even remember to argue over the radio station. The silence mostly continued through a hamburger drive-thru, their filing into Deeks' apartment, walking Monty, and cleaning the coffee pot.

He had a lot on his mind. A lot of questions with no answers. A lot of fears with no comfort. And he was frustrated, the same way he always felt when he started losing control of a situation. But up until a few hours ago, he didn't even realize there was a situation.

Hetty wanted to know if there was anything that LAPD Internal Affairs could use against him. But didn't they all have secrets? Wasn't that the price they paid for getting the job done - sacrificing a little bit of their soul every time they broke the rules for the greater good? There were plenty of incidents that he still harbored guilt for. The mission to Afghanistan. His first undercover assignment as Max Gentry. His last case as a lawyer. God could probably spin a roulette wheel of his life and chances are he would land on something that could be questioned.

"You wanna talk?" Kensi broke the silence finally, apparently unable to hold back anymore. Her face said it all - she was worried and helpless and angry and that was a horrible combination for her.

"I kinda just want a shower," he said with a shrug.

"Okay." She nodded. "How about some company?"

Deeks smiled for the first time in a couple of hours. "Always."

The water was too hot, just how he liked it and how she hated it but if she had an issue with it that night, she didn't voice it. She scrubbed his back and he washed her hair, letting a lot of their tension wash away with the suds. He kissed her slow and deep as the water pelted their faces and made it hard to breathe, but it was worth it. Everything was worth it when he was with her, he was discovering.

She pulled away and rested her hands on his chest, and he knew what was coming next. "Why did you lie?"

"Was it a bad enough lie to be obvious?" It was a very deliberate decision, but not because he wanted to betray Hetty's or Kensi's trust. He wasn't confident in what IA would or wouldn't find in their investigation, and he needed everyone else to remain on the lookout until he found out.

"You're a professional liar, Deeks, and that was your worst performance to date."

He cringed slightly at the very true statement.  _Was that his legacy?_  A professional liar, never to be trusted. Yet somehow this woman, and their whole team, trusted him with their lives. "I need her to remain suspicious, to search even harder than before. Hetty's span far outreaches LAPD's. If there is something to be found, she'll find it first."

Kensi frowned, but her reaction was what he expected. They've all made mistakes, whether they like to admit it or not. She won't ask him for specific incidents right now, because there isn't enough time in the day to possibly recount everything. He feels bad hiding things from her. Really though, they're probably better off not knowing every dirty detail about each other.

Pushing her shoulders back, she straightened her face and lightly scratched his chest and abs with her nails until her hands rested on his hips. "They won't find anything."

Her confidence in him gave him life. He kissed her, harder and with more urgency this time, letting himself get swept away. It almost worked, but a tiny nagging voice remained in his head.

_Maybe not. But that doesn't mean it's not there._


	2. Chapter 2

_**February 22, 2007** _

_When he was in college, bars used to smell like cigarette smoke. Now they just smelled like old disinfectants and desperation. It's not something he normally paid much attention to, until he found himself sitting alone in a bar with his third Maker's Mark, neat. He looked sloppy, with his shirt untucked and his tie discarded in the seat next to him, but he didn't really care much about outward appearances. Take for example, his entire day. It wasn't actually as good as it would have appeared to an outsider. To some, it could have been cause for celebration._

_He won his court case. Great, right? Not if his client was the scum of the Earth._

_Before that happened, he made out with a smoking hot chick in his office. That would have been awesome too, if she wasn't his coworker and married._

_Marty needed a major change in his life plan again. It's amazing that he ever managed to make it through college and law school, seeing as how he liked to reinvent himself every few years. Nothing was ever perfect. He was rarely satisfied. And he searched and searched but could never really find a home anywhere (or with anyone)._

_Bourbon in a bar all by himself when he was feeling low as hell probably wasn't the best way to get his life back on track._ It was what it was though, _he thought as he downed his drink and signaled for another._

_"I heard you got David Serrano off on a technicality today," a familiar gruff voice spoke to the right of him._

_"I had a job to do. I did it. It's not my fault your guys fucked up the paperwork." Marty didn't think he'd had so much to drink already that he wouldn't have noticed Roger Bates sliding into the barstool two seats over from him, but apparently he was wrong. Maybe he should have eaten first before coming to the bar to help soak up the alcohol. Fish tacos sounded good to him, even if was a potential disaster waiting to happen in combination with the liquor._

_Bates scoffed and ordered a gin and tonic from the bartender. "It wasn't_ my  _men."_

_"Whatever," Marty said grumpily. "It doesn't matter anyway. The next set of charges will be the end of him, right? If you can properly fill out a chain of custody form, that is."_

_"Nice to know that alcohol doesn't muddy your charming smartass personality," Bates quipped. "But that's why I'm here actually. Your intel proved true again. We intercepted a truck full of stolen military grade weapons today, courtesy of the Molina cartel. MPs, AKs, grenades, even some old Ka-Bar knives."_

_Marty tried to be nonchalant, but he was curious and excited about this news. "That's...wow. Did you have to turn the case over to the feds?"_

_"Yeah, a good bit of it is their jurisdiction. But we've got a handful of the cartel's local contacts locked up now. We'll get them with intent to distribute, easily."_

_What Bates didn't say but Marty knew he was thinking - they'll get some of these shitheads and their weapons off the street. And that's always the goal, to make LA a safer place. It was a good goal to have. Maybe that's what he needed - a better goal, a greater purpose in life, like protecting people. "I don't guess Serrano was in that group, was he?"_

_"No. His time will come, I'm sure. He's low level anyway, though. Can't even afford a lawyer."_

_Lucky him, Marty thought, to have been assigned a public defender that hated his guts, leaked private information to the police about him, and yet still plead his innocence in court and eventually made him a free man. Jesus Christ, when did he become this person? He'd only been a lawyer for a short time but he could already feel his values slipping away._

" _I'm thinking of a career change, Bates," Marty confessed, swirling his bourbon._

" _Hmm." Bates took a sip of his drink. "Prosecution?"_

_"No. Enforcement." It could have been the alcohol talking, or maybe he'd actually been subconsciously thinking about it for a while._

_"A cop?" Bates chuckled. "_ You _want to be a cop? That's quite a demotion from your current position."_

_Marty finished his bourbon and slid his tumbler to the bartender. "You would know all about that, wouldn't you? Army Intelligence, regarded as one of the best interrogators in your field. And now you're just a lowly detective with the LAPD." He cast a side glance at the detective, who was giving him the usual annoyed glare. "You're not the only one who can do background checks, ya know."_

_"Lieutenant, actually. Effective next month," Bates said with a hint of pride. He didn't address his own demotion. Maybe he just didn't actually consider it to be a lesser job._

_"You're welcome," Marty replied bitterly. The silence that met him solidified his belief that Bates' promotion was a direct effect of all the good work he'd been doing based off of their less than conventional cop/informant relationship._

_"All that money, school...down the drain." Bates clicked his tongue. "I've been meaning to ask. How does a poor kid from Reseda afford Pepperdine Law with no loans? You sell a kidney? Or something maybe you don't want a narc to know about?"_

_"I'm clean," Marty answered, clenching his jaw. "It was a life insurance policy, okay? And it wasn't...isn't a waste. Even if I never step foot in a courtroom again, it wasn't a waste."_

_"Fine. So what makes you think that all of a sudden you want to be a cop now, Deeks?"_

It must be a cop thing _, he thought, being addressed by your last name instead of first. Maybe he could get used to that. "I need to do something that matters," he said with a sigh. "I want to put an end to the drug dealers that suck innocent kids into their lifestyle. I want to protect battered women that are too scared to protect themselves. I want to help people that might not even realize they need it."_

_"You talk too much, son," Bates said, shaking his head. "But those are pretty good reasons. If you really feel that way, you should do it."_

_"But if I do go in that direction, I don't want to be some traffic cop stuck giving out tickets." He looked pointedly at Bates, who nodded his understanding. Marty helped him out, and now he wanted that debt repaid._

_"You'd have to pay your dues first, but I'll do what I can to help you out." Bates pulled out his wallet and pulled out more than enough cash to cover all of their drinks and tossed it on the bar. "But first things first. Get a damn haircut."_

* * *

**April 27, 2015**

The start of the morning was nothing out of the ordinary - Deeks woke up to a beautiful brunette teasing him, only to leave him high and dry when they realized they'd overslept for work. Those few extra minutes of sleep and touching were always important, though. They never knew what kind of events would be in store for them on a given day.

As soon as they rushed into the Spanish Mission, Sam and Callen stood up from their desks and headed straight upstairs to their operational center.

"Case already?" Kensi asked as she and Deeks dropped their bags off and scurried after the senior agents.

"Been waiting on you guys," Eric called from the second floor landing.

Kensi made an apologetic face while Deeks just made excuses. "There was a lot of traffic."

Sam smirked knowingly. "Suuuure,"

Hetty, Nell, and Granger were all waiting when the team rolled into Ops one by one. Nell furiously tapped away at her tablet, still trying to pull together the necessary details of the case as her bosses waited patiently. Or rather, impatiently.

"So nice of you to join us," Granger said dryly, shoving his hands deeper in his pockets.

"Gotta love the 405," Deeks responded, sticking hard to his traffic excuse.

Granger wasn't buying it. "Uh huh."

"Before we get started," Hetty interjected, holding a hand up. "Today marks a special anniversary. Five years ago, Detective Deeks officially joined us as our liaison to the LAPD. An addition that, in my opinion, has been invaluable."

"Has it been that long already?" Kensi teased as Deeks bowed playfully to the team.

"Do we get a speech?" Sam asked.

Callen raised an eyebrow. "When do we not get a speech from Deeks?"

"Did you buy me a cake?" Deeks wiggled his eyebrows. "Or maybe we could celebrate with some of that Pappy's you've been hiding?"

"Sorry Mr. Deeks, no special treatment today. Ms. Jones, video feed please."

Nell nodded and tapped on her tablet again, bringing up the street view surveillance video of a small building. The general area was recognizable to the team, but nothing really stood out about the location.

"Wait for the boom," Deeks said, sticking his hands in his back pockets. It was then that he felt his phone vibrating, so he pulled it out to check who was calling. Bates.

"No boom," Eric replied.

Kensi looked at Deeks curiously as he typed a quick text message to his other boss -  ***kinda busy rn***.

Callen turned his attention to Granger. "Then what are we watching?"

Nell stepped forward, leading the way with the case details. "Yesterday at 9:20 p.m. the Navy's Office of Financial Operations was hacked. The breach was detected quickly but it's possible that an insurmountable amount of information has been compromised."

"Information?" Kensi chimed in. "Not money?"

Deeks' phone vibrated in his hand again.  ***IA wants to interview you. Next Monday at 9.***  Sighing, he showed the message to Kensi, who rubbed his back to silently show her support.

"All files that were accessed were pertaining to last year's audits," Granger spoke up. "Inventory, responsible authorities, locations for everything owned by the Navy."

Again, Deeks' phone vibrated with another message. One of these days he was just going to turn the damn thing off so he didn't have to worry about it.  ***Be here at 8:30 and come see me first.***  He gritted his teeth and shoved the phone back in his pocket, trying to refocus on the task at hand.

Eric held up his own tablet. "Anything as big as a helicopter to as small as this."

"Not necessarily  _that_  small," Nell said, smiling briefly at Eric. "But close enough. Anything that costs more than five hundred dollars is logged into the naval inventory, even if it is something that would seem irrelevant to every day operations."

"Why would somebody want this information?" Callen asked. "Domestic group questioning government spending?"

"That would be the absolute best case scenario," Granger answered.

Sam looked at Hetty. "Worst case scenario?"

Hetty frowned, clearly believing the worst case scenario to be possible. "Foreign operatives searching for the location of every weapon the Navy owns. And every location where naval operations take place."

"Follow the money," Deeks said softly.

"Exactly," Nell pointed to him. "For example. When Sam's weapon wasn't recovered after the Sidorov case, Hetty purchased a replacement for him. The government contract price for a SigSauer P229E2 is $600, so over the limit to avoid audit. Upon it's arrival, Hetty signed the paperwork acknowledging possession and responsibility of the weapon. It was then assigned an inventory number and added to the system with that number, Hetty's name, its value, and primary location."

" _Here_ ," Callen said, clenching his jaw. "Even we could be compromised."

"It's possible," Hetty said. "All secret operations are filed with code names for added security, but the locations are accurate."

"So what's the deal with this building?" Sam asked, pointing to the big screen.

"The breach occurred from multiple locations and happened quickly," Eric explained. "Most of the IPs were untraceable, but we were able to trace one back to this location here. I'll send the address to your phones."

"Do we think they might still be there?" Kensi asked.

Granger frowned. "Probably not. That would be too easy now, wouldn't it?"

"We're going tactical," Callen announced, heading towards to automatic doors.

"For hackers?!" Deeks called out in disbelief.

Nell placed a hand on her hip and gave the detective a fierce look. "I could be a hacker."

Deeks eyed his tiny friend up and down with wide eyes. "Okay yeah, definitely going tactical."

* * *

Tension was running high as the three agents and one detective stormed back into the armory. The day was a failure by mission standards, but a true victory only because they'd all managed to escape unscathed. It was a setup, of course - there were no hackers, not even any computers or networks set up at the location. It was just an almost empty building and the hired guns that were assigned to empty it. Two of the men got away, while two were on their way to the morgue. Hopefully their identities would help send them in the right direction of the mastermind behind the cyber breach.

Ever since leaving the Mission earlier, Deeks felt like there was some sort of ominous cloud hanging over the team. Despite their unfaltering skills and teamwork, it was apparent that something just wasn't right with them lately. In low stress situations, everything was fine. But the demons started to show themselves when the adrenaline started pumping. He knew he was overly paranoid, most likely because he felt that every move he made was being watched and scrutinized. The LAPD Internal Affairs investigation had been relatively quiet, though he was keenly aware of Detective Rivera's somewhat poorly hidden presence in his life. Meanwhile, Callen was moody because he was convinced that suddenly there was more to every little thing than met the eye. He was on the verge of going lone wolf again, to Russia or the Ukraine or God knows where his curiosity would lead him. His search for the missing pieces of the puzzle known as his life would never end until it was complete.

Of course, both of their partners were also on edge as a result of the tension, though Sam and Kensi had started gravitating towards each other for stability. They both saw the day for what it probably was - bad timing. Their partners had other ideas, unfortunately.

"We were screwed the minute we walked out the door," Deeks growled, slamming his vest on the floor.

"We were screwed before we ever stepped foot outside," Callen argued. "Every step we take, somebody is going to be ahead of us. Waiting for us."

"Probably your good friends, the Russians," Deeks muttered, kneeling to unpack his bag of supplies. "They've been making their presence known way too much lately."

Callen crossed his arms over his chest. "My  _friends_?"

"Oh, are they the enemy again? It's hard to keep up with it. Maybe if you made us a schedule, that would help."

"Deeks," Kensi warned her partner. "You're taking your frustrations out on the wrong person."

"No, Kensi, let him say it," Callen said.

Deeks sighed. "No. It's not you." He stood up and looked at Sam and Kensi. "Or you, or you."

"Then what is it?" Sam asked.

A chorus of buzzes and chirps sounded in the room as all four of their cell phones alerted them of text messages. Kensi checked hers first, announcing with a sigh. "Granger wants a debrief in Ops."

They hurried their pace, quickly unpacking their gear and setting it aside for cleaning. Deeks felt another vibration in his pocket, and looked around to see if anybody else was checking their phones. The room stayed silent, so he pulled his phone out to read his message.

***can I talk to you privately later?***

He would usually expect a verbal request like that from Hetty, or even Granger. But this message was from Nell. He sent back a quick "ok" before tossing their bags in the closet and heading for the door. Before he could get too far, a strong hand grabbed his bicep and held him back.

"What's going on with you?" Sam asked quietly.

Deeks shook his head, but Sam just rolled his eyes. He couldn't be fooled.

"You ever just get a feeling and you just can't shake it..." Deeks scratched his jaw and avoided looking Sam directly in the eye. "Like, something bad is about to happen?"

Sam tried to play it off like Deeks was being paranoid by chuckling softly, but his smile never reached his eyes. Sam wasn't even privy to the IA investigation, but Deeks could tell that he felt it, too. Clapping his hand on the younger man's back, he led him to the doorway. "Forget that I even asked."


	3. Chapter 3

**November 4, 2011**

_"Okay, I'm gonna ask this one more time - where are they?"_

_Deeks laughed and shrugged at his partner. "And I'm telling you one more time. I have no idea what you're talking about."_

_Kensi threw her bag over her shoulder and pointed her finger in her partner's chest. "Something accidentally got mixed in with my laundry. That item was never returned to me. Give them back, or I'll..."_

_His smile never wavered as he glanced at her finger. "Or you'll what?"_

_"Castration sounds good," she said, eyes flashing._

_"Well that sounds a bit extreme." Deeks grabbed for his own bag and headed towards the exit. "Okay fine, I will-"_

_"Mr. Deeks."_

_Kensi and Deeks slowly turned on their heels to see their Operations Manager standing with her hands clasped. "May I have a word with you before you leave?"_

_"Uhhh," he stuttered, glancing between his angry partner and his terrifying boss. "Yeah, sure."_

_"This isn't over," Kensi growled at him as he hurried towards Hetty's desk._

_"Have a seat." Pushing an empty teacup to the side, Hetty flattened her hands on her desk and settled into her chair._

_"Is this about Kensi's underwear?" Deeks joked as he plopped into the rather uncomfortable chair in front of the ornate wooden desk. The comfort, or lack thereof, of the chair had to be intentional. He was sure of it. It was just another tactic that allowed Hetty to achieve the upper hand in all matters._

_She squinted at him. "What about Ms. Blye's underwear?"_

_"Nothing," he replied quickly._

_"Hmm." A manila folder seemed to magically appear in front of her then, which she opened and slid across the desk. "How much do you know about Clarence Fisk?"_

_"Um." He puckered his lips as he perused through the papers in the file. Some were NCIS documents, some were LAPD. There was some familiarity on his part with this case because it fell under his division's territory, but he hadn't directly contributed to the investigation since before he went undercover as Jason Wyler. "I don't know anything that's not already here. LAPD has been trying to nail him for years, but he's always been a step ahead."_

_"That does appear to be the problem," Hetty agreed. "But now he is stepping into new territory. Our territory."_

_Deeks nodded. "What's he selling this time?"_

_"Explosives. RDX, we believe."_

_"Well, that could still be LAPD jurisdiction too. He's been a major supplier to local gangs for years."_

_"Yes indeed." Hetty tightened her lips into a tense smile. "But we are less than satisfied with the work that LAPD has been doing when it comes to this particular individual. Some might even say we are suspicious."_

_Defensively, Deeks straightened his back. Maybe he wasn't on this case anymore, but at the end of the day he was still LAPD and Hetty was on the verge of insulting his colleagues and therefore, him. "Could you elaborate on the 'suspicious' part of that statement?"_

_She held up a hand up to him. "This is not personal, Mr. Deeks, just business. Please keep your mind open and unbiased. After all that has occurred, it would appear that Clarence Fisk has somebody on the inside of this operation. NCIS has developed a plan that with your help, I believe will eliminate both of those threats."_

_"A mole." A sense of dread swept through his body. He did not like where this conversation was going. Something that had worried him when he agreed to become the liaison for NCIS was rearing its ugly head again - he now served two masters. Which one was really in control? He had a feeling he was about to find out. "Do you have any ideas of who it is?"_

_"That's where you come in."_

_He assumed she meant that NCIS wanted to know the cops that were most likely to be dirty in LAPD. But really, there were some police officers he'd never even met, much less gotten to know well enough to garner such an opinion on them. Still, he racked his brain to think of the possible perpetrators. There were plenty of assholes, deadbeat dads, drunks, and plain old sloppy cops. But traitors? If he were on the outside looking in, the only person he would finger as a possible mole would be himself. Hopefully nobody else held that same suspicion. "Hetty, I don't really know who it could be."_

_She squinted her eyes and shook her head. "How well do you know Roger Bates?"_

_"Bates?" Deeks asked incredulously. "No. It's not him. He's one of the good guys."_

_"That's not what I asked."_

_"Oh." He tilted his head to think. "Um. Pretty well. Better than I know most anybody else there. He's smart, tough, maybe even ruthless, but he's always had my back. Hard to fool. I don't think a mole could work directly under him, he would see right through it. It's nearly impossible to lie to that guy."_

_"I see." His eyes followed her as she stood and reached for a bourbon decanter, pouring two small crystal old-fashioned glasses of what Deeks assumed was her "good" bourbon. She handed him a glass and took a sip from her own. "Can you lie to him?"_

_Deeks glanced at the glass in his hands. This sure as hell better be her good bourbon. He blinked, readying himself to play yet another role - unfortunately, he just didn't know what that role was yet. "I can lie to anyone," he answered coolly. "But I don't want to."_

_She nodded. "I understand. Sometimes we just have to do things in order to get the job done that are less than ideal."_

_This was definitely not new to him. Just because he'd done it too many times in the past didn't make it any easier. "Things? Plural. I gotta be honest, Hetty, this is getting less and less ideal. Who else am I lying to?"_

_"All of LAPD." She took another sip. "And Kensi."_

_His eyes grew wide and he shook his head. "I can't lie to her."_

_"You just told me you could lie to anyone."_

_"I-" He stammered. "I meant that I don't want to."_

_Hetty eyed him carefully while the wheels spun in his head. His and Kensi's partnership was finally in a good, trusting place. She was the best partner he'd ever had. Sure, he lied to her about little things, but they were more like lies of omission than blatant lies to her face. And lying to Bates, too? Not only was the man his boss, but he'd grown fond of the cranky bastard over the years. Lying to both would be difficult, but for very different reasons. "You want me to betray both sides? And where exactly is my loyalty supposed to lie, no pun intended, here?"_

_"Your loyalty should be the same as always," Hetty answered. "Clearly LAPD comes first for you. Otherwise you would have accepted my job offer several months ago. But before you commit to or deny this request - please consider the ramifications."_

_Once again, Deeks was stuck between a rock and a hard place. It was basically the story of his life. Every difficult choice he's had to make has helped define him, define who he is as a person. And so often it seemed his choices had less to do with what was right or what was wrong, and more to do with choosing the lesser of two evils._

_This wasn't about loyalty, he realized. It was about stopping an arms dealer. It was about keeping people in the city he called home safe. In the end, he knew what had to be done. He had to betray the trust of two people that he himself trusted implicitly, even though his heart told him that his true loyalty was to Kensi and Bates and not the organizations they represented._

_He hoped they would both forgive him. He hoped he could forgive himself._

* * *

**May 4, 2015**

Deeks stood outside the office of Lieutenant Roger Bates (printed very clearly on the door now, he noticed). It was 8:34 in the morning, so technically he was late. Not that it really mattered, seeing as how he wasn't actually at work to work that day. Really, he had no idea what was in store for him.

Over the years he's served as the LAPD Liaison to NCIS, his visits to the police headquarters have gotten less and less frequent. In fact, he was pretty sure he hadn't even spoken to Bates face to face since he offered to pick up a shift while the OSP was closed for Thanksgiving. All he had done was go through paperwork, but that was something he was good at and at that point in his life, he didn't have somebody to spend the holiday with. Life can change very quickly, though, he found out soon after that.

He pulled a hand out of his pocket and rapped his knuckles on the door before turning the knob.

"Yeah?" Bates asked, before looking up and seeing Deeks was already halfway in his office. "You're late."

"I'm in no hurry," Deeks replied, sitting down before his boss. He took in the office, feeling sentimental about the details of his boss that have never changed and those that have over time. He still had that same old coffee cup, but now he actually had a Keurig in his office. Mind-blowing. "How is everything going here?"

Bates shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Our numbers are down right now, but these things fluctuate a lot. What about NCIS? You stopped the world from being blown up yet this week?"

"Well, it's only Monday. Give it time." His words were light but his tone wasn't. Bates wasn't necessarily in a position to need to know the details of their current case - for example, how his own snarky comment about the Russians being behind the hacking of the Navy's audit system appeared to be true. Or that the men they killed last week after the attempted setup to lure them into a trap weren't just Russian, they were former members of the Russian Ground Forces. Whether they were acting on their own or on somebody else's orders was yet to be determined. Either way, Arkady Kolcheck's prophesy of a renewed Cold War was becoming frighteningly accurate. That was just the tip of the iceberg, though. Two days after the hacking, the NCIS evidence warehouse for the Los Angeles and San Diego branches was broken into. Agents were still scouring through old evidence to see if anything was missing, and Hetty and Granger were on a flight to Washington, DC to talk to Director Vance at that very moment. The entire Navy was on high alert, and yet he was sitting here, not doing anything to help the situation.

"Yeah yeah yeah, you and your secrets," Bates responded. "How's that partner of yours? Still putting up with you?"

"Kensi's great," Deeks said, quickly changing the subject before Bates pried too much further. The man was very perceptive, after all. Not to mention that he wasn't here to chit-chat. "So. Why am I here, exactly?"

"I wish I could tell you, but I don't know myself."

Sighing, Deeks rested his elbows on his knees. "Then why do you think I'm here? Just lay it all out there. I need to know what I'm walking in to."

"IA wants to clean house, get rid of all the so-called dirty cops. They've been paranoid since Quinn was outed as Clarence Fisk's mole. One of their own being a rat right under their nose and all," Bates said. "The liaisons are easy targets for her. You have access to our information without being under their watchful eye."

"Are you under investigation?" Deeks asked, hoping for some reassurance. His career has been tied so closely with Bates' for over eight years now. If one was going down, wouldn't the other one follow?

"Not as far as I know," Bates answered, and Deeks believed him.

There had been a case lingering on his mind lately, though, something that shouldn't even be associated with him according to LAPD records. But he knew that half of the job they did was piecing together evidence to make a case, whether the pieces fit or not. "Is there a chance this has anything to do with the cartel bust in 2007?"

"You had nothing to do with that case," Bates reassured him. "And there is probably nothing to this investigation, either."

Deeks wasn't entirely convinced, but didn't want to pry into the tougher questions either. What if they called his morals into question? What if they asked how he managed to make it from Vice to Detective in just six months time? Sure, Bates had told him that he didn't play favorites and was honestly impressed with the work he was doing. But other people in the force certainly didn't see it that way. Shaking his head, he instead chose an easier question to ask. "What do you know about Rivera?"

Bates made a dissatisfied look. "She's a pit bull."

"Pit bulls can be lovable creatures," Deeks attempted to joke.

"Not this one," Bates said, shaking his head.

"Right." Anxiously, Deeks ran a hand through the mop on his head and realized Bates hadn't commented on his ridiculously long hair at the moment. That couldn't be a good sign. "So, besides the usual spiel of 'he doesn't fit in', what did you tell her? You're my rating supervisor, she had to have followed the proper channels before calling me in."

Bates cleared his throat and glanced around the room before meeting Deeks eye to eye. "I said you're a good cop. One of the best men I've ever worked with."

Maybe it was because he didn't have a strong father figure growing up, or because he was still an insecure person underneath his cocky exterior, but those words of affirmation from Bates made his throat swell up. Not knowing how to respond to that, he nodded his appreciation and stood up to leave.

"Third floor, Interrogation Room 4," Bates said gruffly. "Good luck."

Deeks was halfway out the door when he turned around to ask one more question. "What if you're wrong, and it's not nothing?"

"Then," Bates shook his head, like he knew he didn't have the right answer. "Maybe it's just time for you to reinvent yourself again."

* * *

Picturing a small woman that may have the power to determine the course of one's career as a literal puppy probably wasn't a good idea, but Deeks couldn't help it. At first it helped him relax a bit, seeing as how she was extremely uptight and just a little bit rude. He realized he'd gone too far when he started picking out collars for her in his mind. Why couldn't Bates have called her a poodle? Poodles were way worse than pit bulls.

The interrogation (though she kept insisting it be called an interview) started off as expected. They introduced themselves, Deeks tried to be charming, Rivera didn't crack a smile, and they were off. But she took her time with things, a tactic he was very aware of because he'd used it himself plenty of times. The longer a suspect had to wait, the more anxious they would get. The more anxious they got, the more likely it would be that they'd slip up and say something to incriminate themselves.

But why was he a suspect?

They covered some of his undercover cases, including his months long run as Max Gentry. She questioned his using a friend as an informant, but he just told her that if it wasn't him, it would have been somebody else. What cop wouldn't want an informant that they trusted? Surprisingly, she agreed and dropped the subject.

"So are we done?" Deeks asked, leaning back in his chair. He really didn't like being on the wrong side of the table in a room like this, but needed to give her the impression that he was perfectly calm about the situation. They at least needed a small break from the overly general questions - plus, he felt his phone vibrate a few minutes ago, and he still had a ton of work going on at NCIS. This was the first time he honestly realized he was putting NCIS first in his life.

Detective Rivera raised an eyebrow. "We've barely even gotten started."

"Really?" He looked at his watch. "We've been here a while already. Do we get a lunch break, or are we working straight through today?"

She sighed and looked at her own watch so quickly that there was no way she could have read the time. "What about coffee?"

"Sure, why not?" Deeks said with a shrug. "I haven't drank motor oil in a while."

"Funny guy." She stood up. "Do you have a joke for everything?"

"Take me seriously and maybe I won't." Meeting her eyes with a defiant stare, he thought he got his point across.  _No more bullshit, get down to business._

He was fairly certain he heard her grunt on her way out the door, which he considered a victory point in his favor. As he pulled his phone out he noticed that the message wasn't from Ops, but from Kensi.

***Everything is going to be fine***

It made him smile, just like she would have wanted.  ***Thanks***

***Unless you stole somebody's donut***

***Then you're probably fired***

That literally made him laugh out loud. Before he could write back and congratulate her for actually making a funny joke, Detective Rivera walked back into the interrogation room with two styrofoam cups of coffee. Deeks shut his phone off completely and stuffed it into his back pocket, not wanting anymore distractions.

"Thank you," he nodded, taking a cup from her. "Maybe."

"It must be hard," she said, sliding into her chair. "Having to answer to so many people. LAPD. NCIS. Your partner. Yourself. God even, maybe."

Deeks narrowed his eyes and took a sip of coffee. Yup, still tasted like shit. "It's not so bad when you're good at following orders. I'm used to it."

"I see. So, you've been a liaison to a federal agency for..." Rivera paused, doing the math in her head. "Five years now. What made you decide to accept that position?"

"Why not take it?" He smiled. "Super hero by day, but still grounded in the city that's home to me. It's the best of all worlds. Except that they get Christmas bonuses and we don't. You should look into that travesty next."

Rivera rolled her eyes and sighed. He was still making jokes, but they were just words. His smile didn't reach his eyes and he looked deadly serious, like he was daring her to challenge him. "I'll make a note of it."

"Excellent."

"So why not join NCIS full time? What is keeping you here?"

That was actually a good question, but one he didn't really know the answer to. He shrugged. "There's just something about the way detective rolls off the tongue. De-tect-ive. It's good, right?"

"You said you're good at following orders," Detective Rivera changed the subject. Leaning her elbows onto the table, she eyed him in such a way that let him know she wasn't going to be rattled by his responses. "Do you follow orders from anyone else?"

"No," he stated simply.

"Do you remember John Quinn?" She asked next. Finally, she was going somewhere, but he wasn't quite sure of her final destination.

"You already know the answer to that question," Deeks said, tapping a finger on a folder on the table. "It's in my file that I was a part of the team that outed him as a mole 3 years ago."

"Right. Of course." She smiled. "You two were also in the Academy together. Achieved high praise, and both climbed in the ranks at break-neck speed. Your backgrounds are even similar - intelligent, highly educated, and without a penny of student loans to your name."

"You forgot that nobody likes either one of us very much. Although," he held a finger up, "I'll cut Quinn some slack on that one.  _Nobody_  likes Internal Affairs."

"You're very cocky," Rivera said, tilting her head.

"Confident," Deeks corrected, though it was a stretch of the truth. Honestly, he was a little bit worried about the direction of the interview, but he had to conceal that concern. "I've done nothing wrong."

"Back to John Quinn." Opening her file of papers, she leafed through them until she found the one she was looking for. "It was determined, or I should say, you helped determine that he was working as an insider for an arms dealer, Clarence Fisk. Fisk bought him through education."

"You're not telling me anything I don't already know."

"You also had a very good education. UCLA undergrad, Pepperdine Law. All paid in full," she stated.

"Paid in full by  _me_ ," he emphasized. "That being the difference."

"Sort of." She spread out some papers, old papers that he recognized from many years ago, on the table. "You were the beneficiary for your mother's life insurance policy, correct?"

"Correct," he answered, clenching his jaw.

"A pretty new policy, actually."

"Yes," he said tersely. "She had just started a new job that offered good benefits. But I fail to see where you are going with this, unless you're just trying to piss me off. If that's the goal, it's gonna take a lot more than that to get to me."

"Okay, then." She touched a finger to one of the pieces of paper. "She and a second passenger were killed in a car accident in March of 1998. The driver of the other vehicle, Cesar Serrano, was also killed. The passenger of that car, his brother David, was the only survivor. You later defended him in court, am I correct?"

Scowling, he crossed his arms. This was the case he'd definitely worried would come back to haunt him, but he wasn't even employed by LAPD at the time. Technically he never broke the law by giving Bates as much information as possible about that son of a bitch. And that same information later helped LAPD snag one of their biggest busts ever against the Molina cartel. Was she just questioning his morals? And he still didn't know what all of that had to do with John Quinn. "Yes. I was assigned to be his lawyer, and in hindsight, I probably should have asked to be taken off of his case. What's your point?"

Rivera stared him down, observing his reaction. The level of agitation in his voice was getting higher with each question. "A runner for the Molina cartel kills your mother. Now you're suddenly hundreds of thousands of dollars richer. You go to school, become a lawyer that defends people like David Serrano. Then LAPD starts getting an upper hand on the cartel's business in this city, you have a change of heart, join LAPD, and they've been one step ahead of us since."

_Oh shit._ The pieces were finally starting to come together in his head, but wow, that was one fucked up puzzle. "You're not serious. Tell me that that you did not just imply that I…" He couldn't even utter the words. She had the facts straight, but her interpretation was so distorted that he couldn't even make sense of it.

"You're not denying any of this," she stated.

"I'm denying the implication that I'm a dirty cop," he said, and was surprised to hear a faint tremble in his voice. He cleared his throat before speaking again. "I'm denying that I have ever been bought, especially by the people who's horrible actions are the very reason I joined this profession in the first place. All you have is your interpretation of facts. You have no evidence of wrong-doing on my part. If you actually manage to find some, I'll be more than happy to come back and defend myself to you again. But for now, I have more important things to concern myself with."

Pushing his chair back, Deeks stood up defiantly. Detective Rivera looked at him, and for a second he thought he saw a flash of sympathy in her cold dark eyes. "I'm sorry, Deeks."

"Yeah, you should be," he growled in return.

"No." She rose from the table, placing herself in between him and the door. Her short stature was no match for him, but clearly she wasn't going to back down. "I've already turned my findings in to my Sergeant. He thinks it's enough to warrant us looking deeper, into your aliases and all of their old bank accounts, and any other potential avenues for payment."

Deeks couldn't stop himself from laughing nervously as he looked around the room in confusion. "This is ridiculous. Why isn't my word, as a fellow cop, good enough?"

"Because," she said, "You're a liar. It's what they pay you to do. Knowing this, how can we trust what you say?"

He rested his hands on his hips. "So, why did you bring me here today, if you didn't want to hear what I have to say?"

"You deserve to know the accusations against you." She held her hands in front of, still standing firm in her position. "And because you're officially suspended until the investigation is finished."

"Susp-what?" The weight of her last words came crashing down on him hard, and he felt himself losing what he had thought was a tight grip on his emotional control. His conscience told him to get the hell out of there before he said or did anything he might later regret. At this point his words were futile anyway. He looked at Detective Rivera's hardened face and petite hands in disbelief as he pulled his gun and badge from his jeans. In a final show of defiance, he placed the items that he held dear to his heart on the table beside them instead of in her hands.

She glanced at his badge and gun and sighed. For a second he felt like maybe this wasn't easy for her, either. He had no sympathy, however. Stepping aside, she opened the path to the doorway for him to leave. "We'll be in touch, Detective."

"Yeah," he replied bitterly and walked away without another look.

The further he got from in the interrogation room, the cloudier things seemed in his mind. To assign a single word for what he was feeling would be grossly inadequate. Unprepared. Angry. Confused. Or maybe there was so much going on that he was starting to become numb. So numb in fact that he was standing outside on the steps of LAPD headquarters for God knows how long before a uniformed police officer bumped into him and almost knocked him down the stone stairs.

"Sorry, man," the cop called back as he rushed down the stairs.

"Yeah, no, you're good," Deeks said softly. The subtle shove brought him back to reality momentarily. It was then that he noticed the chaos surrounding him - it was as if every officer in the city had converged into one central area. Some were running, some were on their phones, others were huddled in groups talking. He shook his head and blinked his eyes to try to refocus, searching the crowd for someone he knew. Apparently he didn't make enough trips back "home" because he hardly recognized anyone.

"Hey." Deeks grabbed a young cop by the arm as he walked by. "What's going on?"

"An explosion," the cop, whose name badge read Collins, answered. "Maybe two, I don't really know. Lots of people have been dispatched."

All the blood that had been flaming his cheeks red with anger rushed out of his face. "Where?"

"All I know is it's in an old part of town," Collins said with a shrug. "I'm not a responder, sorry."

"Yeah, thanks man." Deeks clapped him on the back and hurried down the stairs towards his car. He couldn't believe nobody had called him - but of course nobody called him, he realized. He'd turned his phone off earlier. Taking a leap off of the fifth step up, he landed on the tips of his feet and started sprinting towards the car while turning his phone back on. He barely even gave it a chance to acquire signal again before dialing Kensi's number.

"Come on, come on..."

It rang five times in his ear and went to voicemail. Then the text messages started coming through.

***call ops* - Nell**

***call ASAP* - Eric**

***Alert - Agent in Distress. Code 6945G*** \- That was Callen's code.

By the time he got to his car, Deeks was shaking - not from fear, but worry of the unknown trouble his friends were in. Whether he was technically an active duty officer or not, he was still part of this team. He unlocked the car and jumped in, throwing it into reverse and nearly slamming into a cruiser on his way out of the parking lot. There were plenty of people he needed to call, but he had to try the most important person one more time first.

The sense of dread in the pit of his belly grew worse and worse as he counted every ring. 1...2...3...4...5...

_"Kensi Blye, sorry I missed your call. Leave a message and I'll get back to you."_


	4. Chapter 4

**April 27, 2015**

_Deeks was about to follow his partner out of Ops when he heard an almost squeaky throat being cleared behind him._ Oh, yeah. Nell.

" _Hey, Kens?"_

_The brunette turned around with gusto, sending her shoulder length hair bouncing. His partner's new haircut was starting to grow on him - it reminded him of how she wore her hair when he first realized he was falling head over heels in love with her. It also reminded him that he'd lied to her for months during that time about an undercover op with another woman. Kensi hated being lied to and had been royally pissed at him for it. And for some reason, he still chose to hide things from her at times. For a smart guy, he could be really dumb._

" _What's up?"_

" _Could you pick up dinner tonight and I'll just meet you back at your place?" Deeks asked, and continued before she had a chance to question him. "I just want to ask Nell if she knows anything about my investigation. You know Hetty's probably had her scouring."_

" _Um," Kensi said with a frown. "Yeah, sure. Turkey burgers?"_

" _You hate turkey burgers."_

_Kensi smiled. "But_ you _like turkey burgers. And I like you."_

_Deeks narrowed his eyes and smiled back. "You just want the lime french fries."_

_Turning around, she walked out of Ops with two thumbs up in the air. He shook his head and looked around the operation center, surprised to see that even Eric had cleared out of the room. His petite red-headed friend stood by one of the center tables, waiting patiently._

" _I'm guessing you found something incriminating," he said, striding over to Nell with his thumbs in his jean pockets._

" _Not really incriminating, but enough to make me curious," she responded. "You know I don't like that Hetty asked me to do this, right? I like a little mystery when it comes to people. Especially friends. I don't want to know everything."_

" _Spit it out, Nell."_

" _Okay." Nell exhaled loudly. "Your NCIS background check noted a possible connection between you and the Molina cartel, which sounded ridiculous to me but I wanted to check it out anyway. So I cross-referenced your name and your aliases with known cartel members and their associates. The only connection I could find was one name that came up for two of your identities, Martin A. Deeks and Martin A. Brandel."_

" _David Serrano," Deeks completed her thought._

" _So you knew this would pop up?"_

_He shrugged. "I knew it was possible. But like you said, there's nothing there that indicates any wrong-doing on my part. It could raise a red flag though."_

" _Deeks." Nell spoke in a hushed tone even though no one was around to hear her. "I read the file. You should have stepped down from that case. You_ know _you should have stepped down. Why didn't you?"_

" _Well," he said, jutting his jaw out. "You're the analyst. You tell me."_

_Pursing her lips, she focused her eyes on her open tablet on the table, flipping through all of the files on Deeks' background that she had saved. She stated the facts quietly to herself, thinking and speaking aloud to help her piece the story together. "So, car crash. You went to college, he got arrested a few times, didn't serve much time. You graduated, got a job easily. You had a pretty good record in court, actually."_

_"I know."_

_"So why would you stop?" Nell directed the question at herself rather than to him. "It must have been this case that caused the change of heart. You won it. Maybe you couldn't handle setting criminals free after this?" She flipped her finger across the tablet a few more times. "Though he wasn't free for long, he was arrested again just two months later, multiple charges this time. Later convicted and sentenced for ten years, but was released after five for good behavior. He was stabbed to death a few months later."_

_"No, I didn't stab him," Deeks stated with a small smile._

_"Be quiet, I'm thinking," Nell shushed him. "And I know you wouldn't stab somebody. You would arrest him, but you wouldn't have been a cop yet at that point. Who was the arresting officer?" She skimmed the report quickly. "Bates. That's your boss."_

_"He's a good cop," he said. "So. Analyze it. Tell me what an extremely intelligent person would think if they were trying really hard to find something to use against me."_

_Nell sighed and rested a hand on her hip. "I don't know why you took that case, but I think after it was over you went to the police with information that eventually led to his arrest. And that's why you stopped practicing law. Because you thought somebody would find out and you would be disbarred."_

_Not quite, but pretty close, he thought to himself. That was actually a little worse than what really happened, and the fact that Nell's analysis was worse than the truth concerned him. If she, his friend, thought he was capable of breaking attorney/client privilege, then what would a complete stranger that was gunning for him deduce from those facts? "That's not entirely accurate. I did change jobs because I wanted to put criminals behind bars, not set them free. And while I helped lead the police in the right direction, I never broke any confidentiality agreements. But thank you for letting me know what you found, and your analysis of the facts. It helps me prepare for what I might be accused of."_

_"I'm sorry," she apologized, placing a hand on his forearm._

_Deeks looked down at her, frowning at the sadness in her hazel eyes. "Don't look at me like that."_

_She didn't ask "like what?" because she knew exactly what her expression represented - sympathy. "You've never really talked about, ya know. Your family."_

" _It's in the past, Nell," he said quietly._

_Nell narrowed her eyes like she didn't believe him. "Does Kensi know about any of this?"_

" _Kinda," he answered. That was a tough question. Yes, his girlfriend knew his mother and father were both deceased. She didn't know the manner in which they died, or that he discovered as an adult the odd coincidence of their dying in the same year. She didn't know that he wasn't an only child, that he'd had a much younger sister that was in the car with his mother at the time of the accident. She didn't know that he'd happened upon the crash on his way home from a night class at Los Angeles Valley Community College and lost his mind when he realized what happened, and had to be restrained from beating the drunken lone survivor within an inch of his life. But now Nell knew all of these things, and she wouldn't stop looking at him like she felt sorry for him and he fucking hated that. "Seriously. It's fine."_

" _I know it is," she replied. Deeks knew that even though he didn't want to make a big deal out of it, that Nell saw things differently. She had a huge family that was so close that they wore coordinating holiday sweaters when they celebrated Christmas together. It had to be frightening for her to imagine losing such an important element in her life. In fact, she'd probably never had to deal with something that painful before._

" _I'm going to say one more thing and then we're not gonna talk about this again." He placed his hands squarely on Nell's shoulders. "Everybody's life is different. And yeah, I've lost a lot of people that were important to me. Family, friends, partners. Eventually you realize that it sucks, but it's just part of life. I'm actually kind of used to it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have something delicious waiting for me at home. And I should have a turkey burger there, too."_

_Nell made a face and rolled her eyes. Typical Deeks - using humor as a defense mechanism. "Get out of here, Shaggy."_

_Deeks threw his hands in the air, walking backwards towards the door. "I'm trying, Velma."_

_He was nearly out the door when she called out to him. "You said you're used to it. Does that mean it gets easier? Each time you lose someone, I mean."_

" _No," he answered, shaking his head. "No, it doesn't."_

* * *

**May 4, 2015**

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

One hand had a death grip on the steering while the other squeezed the life out of the cell phone against his ear. He was running on pure adrenaline at this point - if he stopped to think of all the horrible possibilities, he'd probably have a full-fledged panic attack. Eric sounded stressed yet relieved to hear him on the other line when he called in to Ops, but his relief was short-lived. Deeks started asking a million questions right off the bat, a lot of which Eric didn't have an answer for. Nell knew more than he did, but she was on the phone with Assistant Director Granger and Hetty.

This is what Eric did know: there had been two explosions in their vicinity. The first was small, and knocked the power on their block out. Luckily they had a backup generator, but their power was limited. Callen and Sam had gone outside to find out what happened while Kensi gathered the remainder of the staff together and sent them up to Ops until they had more information. At least the Mission was fairly empty that week due to all of the support personnel and agents investigating the evidence warehouse break-in. When Callen and Sam returned, they were not alone.

This is where Eric's information got fuzzy. He knew that three armed men had escorted them back inside, and Callen eventually left with them. He knew that a small amount of gunfire had been exchanged, but not the status of Sam or Kensi. He knew that a second explosion, bigger than the first, occurred shortly after that. Other than that, all he knew was what Nell would tell him, which wasn't much. "Keep eyes on Callen," she'd said. "I'll handle the rest."

"I'm in the dark right now, sorry," Eric apologized over the phone.

"Are you guys safe?" Deeks asked as he flew by an old Caprice Classic with his hand on the horn. "What if there are more bombs? Everybody needs to get out of there, now."

The line was silent, and Deeks knew Eric well enough to know why. He was glancing in Nell's direction, looking for extra guidance, which she apparently didn't give him. "She won't say it, but I get the impression that we might be trapped in here."

"Fuck," Deeks cursed. He was so close now that he could see brake lights up ahead as traffic was being redirected. He turned right at the next street, trying to approach the building from a different direction to avoid any more delays. "What about windows, can you break one?"

"Really? Bulletproof."

"Of course," Deeks said, shaking his head. "I'm almost there."

"Deeks, if we can't get out, what makes you think you can get in?"

He growled and hung up the phone, dropping it in his lap as he spun his car into an empty parking lot a block away from the Mission. That mentality of "can't" wasn't one he lived by. There was always a way to get something done, he just had to figure out how to do it.

As he got closer to the chaos, he began to realize just how big this situation was. Squad cars, ambulances, fire trucks, civil support buses, and curious on-lookers filled the entire area. Some pedestrians were on stretchers, presumably because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. The buildings surrounding the Mission were abandoned and owned by NCIS in the event there was ever a need for surge capacity, so he knew at least there shouldn't have been any casualties from the blasts. But one building was leveled, while another was missing the half of its exterior closest to the Mission. Both entrances to the old building were blocked by debris, and there was no way an emergency vehicle could get to the doors. Even the secret basement entrance was covered by concrete and broken wood. His eyes searched for a vulnerability on the building as he approached, but nothing caught his eye on first inspection.

"Hey, hey!" He shouted as he ran up to a Fire Captain. "What's going on? Are you guys trying to find a way inside that building?" He pointed to the Mission and realized he was shaking slightly.

"I'm going to need you to step back, sir. The bomb squad still hasn't finished clearing this area." He pointed across the street to where several onlookers were watching.

"No, you need to listen to me, there are people inside." Deeks exhaled and tried to stay calm. "We need to clear a path, find a way to get through so we can get them out."

The Fire Captain narrowed his eyes. "Who are you again?"

"Detect-" Deeks started to say, reaching for his badge. It was such a natural instinct for him - identify himself, show his badge. It was a part of him, and now that part was missing. "Um," he stammered. "I work here. I can help, I know this building inside and out."

It was pretty evident that the Fire Captain didn't believe him. That was part of of the price of working inconspicuously - who would believe that someone worked in an old Spanish Mission that looked abandoned from the outside? Nobody else knew the loads of money that had been dumped into the inside of it. "We appreciate the offer, but we have a lot of heads working on this right now. Now please, step aside and let us do our jobs," he responded, shaking his head.

That was not what Deeks wanted to hear. He needed results, not ideas. Nodding his understanding, he backed away from the group of firemen until he thought he was out of their direct line of sight, then did a 180 and headed back towards the Mission. There was no way he could climb over all of the rubble without being seen, and most likely arrested. That was the last thing he needed to add to his shitty day. So instead he quietly snuck around to the only side of the building that was unblocked by destruction and emergency personnel.

Given the age of the old Spanish building, the vibrations from the blast had to have caused unseen structural damage. It was renovated about six years ago, Deeks knew that for sure. That had to have been when all the windows were upgraded and everything inside was replaced. He scratched his hands across the white and red colored adobe bricks as he scanned the building for damage. The first window he came upon seemed solid and secure when he banged a fist on the frame, so he continued his path, looking for any possible secret passageways Hetty might have installed. He certainly wouldn't have put it past her.

Deeks looked into the next window, even though they were nearly impossible to see through. He knew this side of the building was close to the armory and the back stairway to the second floor. Even though Eric didn't indicate that there was one, if an imminent threat was still in the building he'd be able to sneak in easily at this location. He heard a light dusting sound and realized that the adobe he was resting his hands on was crumpling to his feet. His heart started pumping and he pounded his fist on the frame of the window, moving up, down, and over in a rectangle until he heard a pop.

"Yes," he whispered, hitting the weak side of the window until it loosened itself completely. That broke the dam so to speak, and he forced the other three sides loose until it broke free from its frame. Somehow he managed to catch it before it fell, and rested it quietly against the floor as he leaned through the now open window. A thought flashed through his mind, about how impressed Kensi would be at his cat burglar skills. It made him sad, and reminded him that he had to find her. He  _needed_  to find her, and Sam too.

Hoisting himself up, he slid his body down face first into the building. The window frame scratched his chest and abdomen on the way in, but he landed his palms on the cold terra cotta floor as quietly and gracefully as a cat. And again, he found himself instinctively reaching for something that wasn't there - his gun. Hopefully he wouldn't need it, anyway. Eric made it sound as if they weren't in danger in the building, but at the same time, he was hidden up in Ops.

The Mission was eerily quiet without annoying banter between Sam and Callen, or grumbling from Granger, or the furiously quick stomping of Nell's boots across the hard floor. Quiet was not good, Deeks thought. Quiet was very, very bad. He peaked his head around the staircase and into the open center of the building, looking for anything that could be perceived as a threat. The room was still and dark, with the only light coming from the yellow glass window and one emergency light. There was nobody in sight.

"Where the hell are they?" Deeks asked himself aloud, walking quickly out into the open. This just didn't make sense, and his lack of understanding was not doing his nerves any favors.

"Deeks?"

"Sam?" He spun in a circle in confusion before walking in the direction he thought the voice came from, their desks. "Sam, somebody better tell me what the fu-" But when he moved past their small bullpen, the sight before him left him at a loss for words.

Blood. Lots of it. Kensi was lying on the floor with her feet raised in a chair. Sam was kneeling next to her with one hand pressing on her right leg and one on her left shoulder. Right inside the side entrance door was a man that he didn't recognize, also lying in blood. Dead, he presumed. But Kensi, his partner…he didn't know how she was. He wanted to move or speak or breathe but he couldn't. All he saw was blood.

"She's alive," Sam said quietly. "Just...asleep right now."

"Okay." Later Deeks might thank him for the gentle wording, even though he knew asleep meant unconscious. "Okay...okay."

"She's alive, Deeks," Sam repeated, louder and more commanding this time.

He tried to snap himself back into action but it felt as if he was standing in quicksand, doomed to sink and drown as his everything bled to death before his eyes. He could do it, though. He could break out of this. "We need to get out of the building, Sam."

"You think I don't know that?" Sam clenched his jaw, not looking at the younger man. His focus was solely on Kensi. "We can't move her. Not like this."

"Why?" Deeks knew why, he just couldn't make his brain work. "Why, why can't we move her? We need to move her."

"Get it together, Deeks!" Sam closed his eyes. "The shoulder wound isn't serious, I don't think. The leg shot must have nicked the femoral artery. That's why there's so much blood. That's why I've been sitting exactly like this for I don't know how long. And that's why I can't move her unless we find a way to control the bleeding first."

"Okay. Okay." Deeks closed his eyes, trying to formulate a plan. "Eric said everybody else is up in Ops. They need to get out. I...I will fix this."

"Do it."

Breathing in deeply, Deeks looked to the ground. For some reason he was afraid to disturb the pools of blood on the floor. Really, he needed to get as far away from it as possible if he was going to be able to focus on the task at hand. He saw Kensi's Sig on the floor a few feet away from her body and picked it up, shoving it down into his waist holster. Somehow that made him feel better, stronger even.

"Where's your gun?" Sam asked.

Seeing as how he hadn't taken his eyes off of Kensi, Deeks had no idea how Sam even noticed that his holster was empty just moments before. "Not important right now. I'll be back."

Once he was away from the desks and blood and awful sight of his partner, he took off towards the stairs. Taking them three at a time, he was at the top within seconds and ran so quickly to the automatic doors in Ops that he nearly smashed into them when they didn't open. Apparently Nell had locked everything down when the shooting started.

"Nell! Eric! Open up!"

Moments later, the doors opened to reveal a frazzled redhead with her hands full of electronics and a Glock protruding from the pocket of her slacks. "How bad is it?" Nell asked.

He ignored her question. "Everybody needs to get out of here. Bomb squad still hasn't cleared the area and knowing how old this building is, it could start to crumble at any time."

She clutched her tablet to her chest. "If they haven't cleared the area, how did you get in here?"

"Stop asking questions, Nell!" Deeks could feel the adrenaline starting to pump again. Yeah, he'd said they were all adrenaline junkies, but this was different. He felt anything but high at the moment. "I broke a window. Kind of. A frame, I broke a window frame. Take everybody down the back stairs by the armory, it's right there."

Nell shared a look with Eric, who joined her in the doorway. "He still has his phone with him. We can track Callen on our tablets, Nell," Eric reassured her. "Our resources are limited right now, anyway. Come on."

She nodded and signaled to the few other staff members standing and watching the big screen with worry.

"It's a tall window, you're gonna have to give everybody a boost, Beale," Deeks warned.

"On it," Eric replied, and Deeks cracked the tiniest smile at the Tech's use of one of his phrases. He wasn't going to spend any more time ushering them out, though - he had much bigger problems to worry about.

As he rushed across the second floor landing, he glanced down to the bullpen for a second. Sam and Kensi were just as he left them. He was sure it had only been one minute since he stood down there with them. Time was moving in slow motion, but at least his feet weren't anymore. Before he knew it, he was in the gym searching for the Revgear wrap that he used for boxing. He dumped an entire drawer of supplies on the floor and rummaged until he found an unused roll.

"Boom," he muttered as he snatched it up and took off again, grabbing a first-aid kit on the way out. He wasn't entirely sure how well his impromptu plan would work, but they had to try something. There was a small chance that medics could fit all of their supplies through the window and get in to help Kensi, but that would just take up even more time that they didn't have to spare.

As he got closer to the bullpen, Deeks could hear quiet voices talking to each other. Well, he definitely heard Sam talking, and he was sure that he was only imagining that Kensi was talking back to him.

"She wants to go to Hawaii for her birthday," Sam said softly. "What happened to Harry Potter parties and Barbie dolls?"

Deeks couldn't believe his ears when he heard his partner speak in a scratchy voice. "Barbie would love Hawaii."

"Yeah, but can Barbie pay for Hawaii? That's the real question." Sam smiled at her while casting his eyes in Deeks' direction. He was almost to the outskirts of the blood spray on the floor. "Look, I told you he was here."

Kensi blinked and caught sight of Deeks as he knelt opposite Sam beside her. "Hey, there's my favorite detective," she said weakly.

"She's been in and out of it for awhile," Sam mumbled quietly. "You got a plan?"

"Yeah." Deeks thought he was about to throw up but somehow held it down. The scene was almost too much for him to handle now that he was so close to it. Kensi was pale, so very pale. Sam was covered in her blood. They all see blood almost every day, but not…like this. He forced a smile and leaned down, placing a light kiss on her lips. "Hey, baby. Me and the big guy, we're gonna get you out of here. You just gotta stay strong, alright?"

"She's stronger than both of us, she'll be fine," Sam said confidently.

Kensi nodded and closed her eyes, whispering, "Damn straight."

Exhaling loudly, Deeks opened the first aid kit and started pulling out gauze. She was already out again when he turned back to her and started unbuttoning her shirt. Sam moved his hand quickly, letting Deeks place the gauze and start wrapping her shoulder. "Sam, what the hell happened?"

Sam watched Deeks as he tenderly cared for his girlfriend's wounds, recounting the story for him. "Small explosion took out half of one of our buildings. G and I went to check it out, and when we got out the side door there were three guys waiting for us. Russian. They were looking for something that belonged to Nikita Reznikov, but wouldn't say what. Thought we had it here because we investigated his death. G said most of his possessions were his house, but they didn't believe him. They made us come back inside. Kensi pulled her weapon and that guy," he nodded to the dead man, "opened fire. She still managed to get him as she fell."

"That's my girl," Deeks murmured proudly. He pulled her shirt tight and buttoned a lone button back, trying to ignore the fresh stains on his hands. Now they had to handle the bad wound, and he was terrified. "Russians and their damn secrets, huh."

"Not just the Russians."

Deeks knew that comment was directed at him, and he probably deserved it. No more secrets after today, he thought. It's not worth keeping them anymore. "What about Callen?" He asked, getting the subject back on track.

"He's...I dunno." Sam shook his head. "I have no idea. I just hope he didn't try anything stupid."

Deeks unwrapped more length of tape and bit his lip before gathering every piece of gauze left in the first aid kit. His hands were shaking as he laid the gauze down piece by piece and started wrapping. Sam applied more pressure at the curve of her hip, which helped a lot, but not enough to stop the bleeding completely. He was worried that she didn't make a sound as they worked on her. Getting shot hurts. Everything about it hurts. "So you stayed," he said, wrapping her thigh tightly. "With her. Instead of trying to follow your partner."

Sam nodded, allowing a small amount of sadness to wash over his normally stoic face. "It was just what I had to do."

"I um..." Deeks cleared his throat as he wrapped and wrapped almost to the point of excess. "I guess I owe you for the rest of my life now, too."

"You don't owe me anything. I think we're good now," Sam said, pointing to her leg.

"I came in through a window in the back cause all the entrances are blocked." Deeks stood up and wiped his hands on his shirt while Sam cradled Kensi in his arms and lifted her in the air. "I parked by the old McDonalds a block or so away. After we get out, take my car and go get your partner back. Eric and Nell have been tracking him."

Kensi moaned as they walked towards the window, waking up again. "Where we going?"

"Help's here," Sam said soothingly. Flashing lights could be seen through the opening as they approached, and Deeks nearly cried in relief. Medical personnel were unloading the ambulance and preparing to help them get out of the small window.

"You're doing great, Kens." Deeks smoothed her hair away from her face and kissed her forehead. He felt like he could finally breathe again. "Everything's gonna be just fine."


	5. Chapter 5

**April 10, 1998**

_Marty sat in the plush leather seat, fidgeting with the velcro of his cargo shorts as he finished reading the paperwork associated with his mother's estate. If you could even call it an estate, really. They were not estate-having people. They weren't even will-having people. He was her most valued (still living) belonging, and since he was an adult he technically didn't "belong" to her anymore. It wasn't like he was worth that much anyway._

_His attention kept drifting to the business card holder on the mahogany desk in front of him. "Richard McDowell, Esq", the cards read. Attorney at Law. What kind of douche actually puts Esquire on his business card? A douche named Dick. Dick McDowell. Esquire. Full douchery, at your service._

_"Marty?" An older gentleman walked into the office with his hand outstretched. "I'm Rick. I would say it's nice to finally meet you, but that's a big fat lie considering the circumstances."_

_Oh yeah, he thought. Rick, not Dick. He remembered that now. He hadn't actually talked much with his mom about her new boss. He was basically just happy that she'd found a solid job working with good people. She had been really excited, but the added benefits weren't something that necessarily appealed to him the same way they had her. His 19 year old brain had other things on his mind. Well, until now anyway._

_Rick sat down in his high-back chair, causing a squish of air to escape from the seat. "Did you have any questions about the papers Linda gave you? It's fine if you do, it's a lot to process. That's what I'm here for."_

_"No, I'm good," Marty answered. "Maybe a little overwhelmed, but I'll adjust."_

_"Your mother did say you were quick on your feet."_

_Marty forced a tight smile. He was trying to be nice to Rick. It wasn't his fault that his family was dead, and he seemed decent enough for a lawyer. The statement itself just put him a little on edge. It was true, he was quick on his feet. He'd managed to survive, and flourish even, because of this. In elementary school, he was the sweet kid that loved music and had a horrible home life. They moved before middle school, and he reinvented himself as a smartass troublemaker. When he changed schools again, he also had a change of heart. His sister needed a strong and responsible male figure in her life, and he was determined to fill that role. So in high school, he was popular Marty, straight A student but still the life of the party. He ignored his past, and focused on all of their futures._

_He was hoping to go to college, but he didn't get enough scholarships to cover the price of tuition, room, and board. Student loans sounded like a nightmare to a kid that was already a hardcore penny-pincher. So, Community College it was. His mother was proud that he wanted to make something of himself. Hell, he was proud, too._

_"Marty?"_

_"What?" He blinked and sighed. "Sorry. Just thinking. Oh yeah, I uh, I wanted to thank all of you for being really awesome and helping out with this. I still can't believe she actually had a will and life insurance. So yeah, thanks for that too. I mean...I don't know what I mean. Do you know what I mean?"_

_"I think I know what you mean," Rick said with a nod. "And I'll help out any way I can."_

_Marty narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I thought all lawyers were assholes."_

_"Oh, we are," Rick laughed. "It's one of the required classes in law school."_

_"Asshole 101?" Marty smiled._

_"Artis Asshole," Rick quipped back. "This is the law, it must be in Latin."_

_"Right." This asshole was pretty funny, actually._

_Rick's face grew more serious. "You're taking night classes, right? You ever thought about going to a university?"_

_"Thought about it," Marty admitted. "But, ya know..." He squeezed his fingers together, making the universal symbol for money._

_"This is going to be hard for you to think about, Marty. But you have more options now. Your mom always said that you were incredibly smart. She said you only took the SATs once and got a 2100. It wouldn't be a bad thing to turn a tragedy into something positive."_

_"Maybe." He fidgeted with his pants again. "I kinda had my heart set on being a hot dog vendor, though," he joked._

_"You can be anything you want to be, kid." Sensing that maybe he had overstepped his bounds, Rick looked down at his desk and started organizing a stack of papers for Marty to sign._

_Marty felt kind of bad for assuming that Rick-not-Dick would be a douche or an asshole. In fact, Rick looked like a man that had just lost a friend. Maybe it was because he liked to make people laugh, or because needed a laugh because he was feeling a little lost in the whirlwind of the past few weeks, but he decided to reach for one of the business cards on the desk. He examined it before grabbing a pen and adding his own input to the lettering behind Rick's name - "Asshole Extraordinaire."_

_"Fixed it for you," he said, dropping the card in front of Rick with a smile._

_Rick scowled though his eyes laughed as he read the card before handing it back to the young man. "Takes one to know one. Maybe you should be a stand-up comedian."_

_Marty smiled at Rick. Maybe he should be a comedian. Or a dentist. Or a lawyer. Or a cop. The possibilities were endless. And just like always, he was going to hold his head up high and find the positives in even the most horrible of situations._

_He could be anything, or anyone, he wanted to be._

* * *

**May 4, 2015**

Deeks wondered if this was how she felt, knowing he needed surgery on his mouth after being tortured. Though his surgery wasn't immediately after the trauma, and she did have the benefit of being distracted by work at the time. Not to mention that for all intents and purposes, they were still only "partners" then.

So yeah, this was worse. Way worse.

He was trying not to think too much about it, but every little thing that crossed his mind made his state of emotions worse. Happy memories made him panic over the possibility of never having any more memories with her at all. Bad memories reminded him that they test fate every day and that their luck would run out eventually.

"Mr. Deeks."

His eyes shot open. He didn't even realize they were closed. Passerby's probably thought he was praying. Maybe that's what he should have been doing all along. Tilting his head, he realized he wasn't imagining the presence of his Operations Manager beside him. "Hetty? I thought you were in Washington." His voice sounded odd to him - low and quiet, almost peaceful.

"Well, I was this morning." Hetty sat in the vinyl chair next to him in the surgical waiting room at Pacific Alliance Medical Center. "And now I am back. How is Kensi?"

"In recovery," Deeks answered. "I don't have many other details right now. They let me go back for just a minute, but she'll be in the Surgical Intensive Care Unit when they move her. I uh, can't stay the night there, but hopefully it's just one night. She needs a lot of blood." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Just waiting for them to move her, then I'll go...home, I guess."

"Home is a good idea, I think."

Deeks looked down at his hands, one of the few parts of him that was sparkling clean now. "How's Callen?"

"Okay, physically." Hetty pursed her lips. "It's certainly not the first time he's been bound and discarded like trash. The men that abducted him took what they needed and left him mostly unscathed thankfully. He blames himself for all of this, of course. He is looking for answers, looking for someone to be the target of his...rage. Mr. Hanna is keeping an eye on his partner."

"I, um," Deeks paused and forced a chuckle. "I know the feeling."

She narrowed her eyes. "Which feeling would that be? The overprotectiveness, or the rage?"

"I think that right now, I know every feeling that every person has ever had."

"Hmm." Leaning back into the chair, she linked her fingers in her lap. "Do you know what you are going to do, Mr. Deeks?"

"I don't know what-" He stopped himself from using his go-to phrase of avoidance. But of course he knew exactly what she was talking about. "You know?"

Hetty nodded.

"Everything?"

She nodded again.

"I haven't really had a chance to think about what I'm going to do," he confessed with a sigh. "I'm going to take care of my partner right now. Other than that, I guess I just have to wait and see what IA has to say at the end of their investigation. Unless I'm being set up, they won't find any evidence implicating me as a mole. Certainly not enough for them to press charges. What this means for my career though, I have no idea."

"You have some time to weigh your options. The Office of Special Projects will have to find a new operations center, obviously. It could take months to be fully operational again. But no matter what happens with the LAPD," Hetty said pointedly. "You know you have a home with us."

"I'm not an agent," he muttered. "And I know you want me to be. But I've always taken pride in the fact that I could represent the people of Los Angeles. It keeps me grounded. I always assumed that when I was ready, I would sign your papers and be prepared to represent the entire country. I just didn't expect the decision to essentially be made for me. You know what I mean?"

"I believe I do," she said. "You have a lot of things to discuss with your partner when she is feeling better, it would seem."

"You have no idea." He gritted his teeth. "Although maybe you do. You know everything and share nothing. The master of keeping secrets."

Hetty smiled knowingly. "We all live our lives under the rose, Mr. Deeks. It comes with the territory of doing what we do."

"Professionally, yes," he said. "But at some point we have to trust the people that are important to us enough to be honest with them."

Hetty sat quietly, allowing the younger man to process his thoughts instead of interrupting them. She expected him to need to lash out, given his vulnerable and fragile state of mind. "If I'm being honest," he continued. "I don't know that I trust you the way that I used to. I still harbor a lot of anger and resentment towards you. For sending Kensi to Afghanistan. For almost getting her killed. For keeping all of us in the dark. It was wrong. All of it was wrong."

"You're not the only person that feels that way," she confessed, speaking slow and deliberately. "That mission wasn't the shining moment in my career. These past few years have taken their toll. Losing Dom. Renko. Hunter. After you and Sam were tortured, I closed my emotions off, thinking only with my head instead of my heart. It's easier to do my job that way, though it's not always the right thing to do."

Deeks shook his head. "Still no excuse."

"Agreed."

It wasn't exactly an apology, but that would probably be as close as he would get from Hetty. Maybe she was content to keep everyone in the dark because she couldn't trust herself to handle the ramifications of letting people get too close to her. Deeks used to feel the same way, but he couldn't anymore. Without meaning to do so, he'd allowed so many people to find a place in his heart. The one person that took up the most of it at least deserved to know who he really was. It was going to be part of his new mission during his involuntary absence from work - he needed to nurse his girlfriend back to health, decide the future course of his career, and be honest with himself and with Kensi.

"Mr. Deeks?" A middle-aged man with green scrubs walked up to them. "Ms. Blye is resting comfortably in SI room 3. Visiting times start at 8:00 AM and last 15 minutes, with a visit allowed each hour. Her doctor will be in to speak with you at 9:00. Hopefully she can be moved to a floor room tomorrow."

"Thank you," Deeks said, standing up and extending his hand to the man. His legs were cramped and tired but he still felt like running a few miles when he got home. It might be the only way to clear his mind.

He had a lot of things to think about, and a lot of things to talk about. Those would all have to wait.

* * *

**May 13, 2015**

He talked for days. On and off, not all day long, though he had enough stories to fill an entire week's worth of NPR broadcasts.

Most of the time he talked about silly things, like his favorite Saturday morning cartoons as a kid or the time he convinced a bunch of high school kids that he was a bartender and got smashed instead of mixing drinks at their party. Did he mention that he was only in the 9th grade when that happened? Yeah, that's the best part of the story.

Occasionally Deeks mixed in stories that hit a lot closer to home in between the funny ones. It wasn't like Kensi had a choice but to listen, either, seeing as how she was just...there. She was going to be fine, eventually. The arterial repair surgery had been as smooth as possible, but she required several blood transfusions. They didn't tell Deeks how many units of blood she'd been given. He really didn't want to know, either.

She was home (actually, Deeks' home) now, nice and comfortable on the couch with Monty the Protector. The poor dog hadn't left her side since her arrival at the apartment. Deeks told her that dogs and babies have amazing instincts. Kensi told him to shut the hell up about babies but thanked him for the dog.

Vicodin made her brutally honest, it seemed.

Visitors came and went, but none more often than her mother. Deeks almost felt bad that he didn't relinquish the care-taking responsibilities to her, since she probably would have been a lot better at it than him. Their first night home, he thought she would insist on staying the night, but she didn't. When it started getting late, she simply gave him a hug, Kensi a kiss, and told them she'd be back in the morning to check on them. Right after Julia left, he told Kensi the entire story of his mother, sister, and how he transformed himself from Marty Brandel, a poor Community College student into Marty Deeks, a law school graduate.

It turned out Vicodin also made her cry.

The next day, Deeks finally left her side long enough to meet Bates for a cup of coffee. He had been avoiding his boss' phone calls because frankly, he had more important things on his mind. The grizzled lieutenant wasn't happy, but understood his avoidance. What he didn't understand was why Deeks didn't just tell Detective Rivera the truth about David Serrano. Deeks didn't have a good answer for that question. It was partly because no matter what he said, she was going to continue her investigation anyway. Another reason was that it would give more basis to the rumors around the precinct that Deeks' fast promotions weren't simply because of his excellent work ethic. Either way, his reputation at LAPD would be tarnished forever. Bates begrudgingly agreed, but swore he would go to bat for him any and every day of the week.

That made him feel a little better about being suspended, but not good enough to give him the strength to tell Kensi about it. Instead, that night he told her about how he became a cop. He told her everything from being an informant to kicking ass in the academy, and how the whole thing still weighed on his conscience to that day. She ran her hand through his hair and reassured him that they all probably would have done the same thing, or worse, in his situation.

"Deeks?" Kensi asked, draping her good arm over the sleeping dog at her side. "Whatcha thinking about?"

"Hmm?" He hadn't even realized that he'd zoned out completely for who knows how long. "Nothing important, really. The guys should be here any minute, though."

"I'm not putting on a bra for them," she warned.

Deeks shook his head and laughed. "Never change, darlin'. Never change."

Sam and Callen had been keeping busy. Somehow Hetty had arranged a temporary Ops center in one of her homes. Knowing her, it had probably been there for years. Who knew what kind of covert operations she liked to plan in her spare time.

Knock knock.

Monty growled. "Pizza's here!" Kensi yelled.

"It's not pizza, it's Sam and-" Deeks swung open the door and was hit with the scent of pepperoni. "Callen. And pizza. How did you guys know she wanted pizza?"

"Because we know Kensi," Callen answered dryly, walking in the door and dropping the box in Kensi's lap. Monty sniffed the air as she opened the box with the one hand she could actually use and grabbed a slice.

"We also know she can only live on pancakes and PB and J sandwiches for so long," Sam added, dropping a kiss on the top of Kensi's head. "You look good."

"Fthanksh," she replied, her mouth still full of pizza before swallowing deeply. "Deeks missed his calling as a nurse. I'm trying to convince him to wear scrubs. Don't judge, it's hot. Although I really don't like that he has to help me use the bathroom. It's awkward."

Deeks smiled. "We're closer than ever."

"I can see that," Sam said, grinning.

Deeks pointed to Callen's eye, which was still a touch bruised from his encounter of the Russian kind last week. "You got off lucky, huh?"

"About that..." Callen sat down on the couch next to Monty. Sam and Deeks were content to stand. "We actually need to discuss work."

"Work?" Deeks scowled. He was pretty sure Hetty hadn't told anyone that he was suspended from LAPD, and therefore also inactive at NCIS. Yes, he was trying this whole honesty thing now, but this just wasn't the right time to have this conversation with everyone. "Um. Okay. What's going on?"

"We're going to Moscow," Callen said.

Deeks' mouth dropped open. "Www-we?"

"G and I," Sam answered. "Leaving tomorrow."

Kensi interjected herself into the conversation. "So, why exactly are you going to Russia? Is this sanctioned?"

"Technically, yes." Callen rubbed Monty's ears. "These guys committed an act of terrorism on American soil and committed robbery, not to mention government hacking and burglary."

"But there's more to it," Deeks said.

Callen nodded slowly. "When they spoke to each other, they kept referring to their dyadya. Uncle. 'Uncle said this, Uncle was very specific about that.' Whoever their uncle is, he knew my father. Maybe he even is my father."

"Maybe." It was hard to hide the irritation in Deeks' voice. "You're going halfway around the world on a wild goose chase, risking your lives in the process, for maybes. Sam, come on."

"I'm going to catch the bastards that almost blew us up, and keep my partner safe," Sam rationalized.

Callen shook his head. "My whole life, all I've had is maybes. I need an absolutely."

"What about Arkady?" Kensi asked softly. "What did he say?"

"These guys were young. He doesn't know them. Said they could be FSB, but he doubted it. He is being...tightlipped. He knows more than he is saying, as usual."

"I don't like this," Deeks muttered. He knew what it felt like to have no family, but not the feeling of never having had one. But still, the hunt for one single connection didn't seem like something that was worth losing your life for.

"I have to do this," Callen said. "These guys are going to pay for what they did, but they might have the answers to what I'm looking for. Family."

Deeks scratched his head and looked around the room, at Kensi first, then Sam, then finally Callen. "Okay. I'm just saying, though. Don't look so hard that you can't see the one that's right in front of you."

Callen narrowed his eyes but smiled for just a second. "I won't."

* * *

Kensi had a carb crash as soon as Sam and Callen left and snoozed peacefully with Monty for about an hour. It gave Deeks enough time to clean up his apartment a little...and to think. Even though he wasn't pleased about the senior agents running off to Russia, a small part of him wished he and Kensi could go too. They at least needed someone there to watch their dumb asses in case something went wrong.

But what kind of detective shoots off to Russia on a whim to catch some bad guys? Sherlock Holmes maybe, but doubtful. He remembered when they went to Romania a few years ago. He didn't hesitate to follow the team, but it was a brand new experience for him. Marty Deeks was not a world traveller by any means. But now he'd been to Europe, Dubai, Mexico, Jordan, Afghanistan, even spent Christmas on a naval aircraft carrier.

The thought had crossed his mind before about how proud he was every time he got to show off his detective skills at work. He brought a different element to the team, an element that he thinks made it complete. What if he did end up getting fired from the LAPD? Or what if he didn't? Would he still want to be a part of the team that he's grown to think of as his surrogate family over the years, regardless of the outcome?

The simple answer was yes.

"Where's my pizza?" Kensi mumbled, rolling her neck.

"In the fridge, Miss Piggy." He handed her a bottle of juice and her sleepy eyes lit up. "Do you need to pee?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm good,  _Mom_."

"Just checking." Exhaling loudly, Deeks sat on the couch next to her and adjusted his shorts before speaking again. "Lance Ass."

Kensi made an odd face and he wasn't sure if the juice was sour or if she was just confused. "Sorry, who?"

"My stage name," he revealed. "This was the early 2000s, NSYNC was still really popular and yeah, I know I have a nice ass. I know you wanted to know what it was, so there. Lance Ass."

"Wow," she gulped. "That's a really big one."

"Funny, that's what they always used to tell me," Deeks said with a grin.

"Really?" She took another sip of juice before handing it to him to put on the coffee table. "So, what's the bad one?"

"Bad one?"

"Yeah," Kensi said. "You've been telling me stories and secrets for a week now. You protect yourself with a funny one before telling a bad story. So, what's the bad secret? A secret love child in Australia?"

"No children...that I know of."

"See, you're trying to be funny again."

"Okay. The bad one," Deeks said, placing a throw pillow in his lap. "I've been suspended from the LAPD pending further investigation into my financial history and possible connection to the Molina cartel."

A series of emotions crossed Kensi's face, ranging from confusion to indignation. "This...I don't even know what to say. Why, why would they even think that?"

"Because they still have egg on their face from the John Quinn incident. Because they took something that was barely more than a coincidence and made it criminal. I'm not squeaky clean but I swear I never-"

"You don't have to defend yourself to me," Kensi interrupted. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the couch cushion. "Why don't you just sign those damn papers, Deeks?"

He tilted his head. "How do you know about them?"

"Because," she said, her voice almost desperate. Deeks realized it was almost time for her pain medicine again, but she'd probably bite his head off if he paused the conversation. "Because you were gone for weeks, and you wouldn't answer my calls or open the door for me. I missed my partner, my best friend. Every once in a while when nobody was around, I would go look through your stupid chicken scratch notes, or make a mess of your desk hoping you would have some sort of intuition about it and come back. So, sue me, I snooped. Four years, Deeks. Your application to become an NCIS agent has been there for four years. Why won't you sign it?"

"I haven't needed to," he answered with a shrug. "I know my loyalty has been torn at times, but I'm proud to be LAPD. And I'm proud to represent NCIS. I was proud to be a public defender. Every move I've made, it was because I thought that it was the right thing to do at the time."

"And now?" She opened her eyes and turned her head towards him.

"I'm waiting till they reach their conclusion."

She frowned. "And if they fire you?"

Deeks sighed and toyed with a loose string on the pillow. "Then I sign the papers."

She blinked her eyes rapidly, as if she didn't actually expect that answer. "What if they clear you?"

He cleared his throat. "I still sign the papers."

"Really?" Kensi asked, smiling weakly. "You sure? You know I'll support whatever you choose."

"I know. I've had a lot of time to think this week," he said. "I've never been stationary, always moving and changing. LAPD grounded me to a degree, and NCIS grounded me even more. It's what I needed. I still don't like the idea of being reassigned, but I have to get over that."

"It's just evolution, the natural progression of life." She shifted on the couch and winced. "Change can be good. I mean, look at us."

"Look at us," he echoed, releasing a deep breath. Having that conversation over and done with made him feel like a weight had been lifted. It was a good feeling knowing what his future entailed, and that IA's investigation wouldn't have much bearing on it. He'd felt like they were the cat to his mouse for weeks now, and he was ready to start proclaiming himself as the jungle cat again.

"I  _am_  curious to how you'll react if you do ever get reassigned to someplace like Spain or something," Kensi teased, winking at him.

Another thing was different about this change - it was the first time in a while that he wouldn't have to do it alone. "Obviously I'd request another super hot partner," he teased back.

Kensi sighed and shook her head. "I was referring to us, jerk."

"Oh, that, yeah." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'd just have to ask you to marry me, I guess."

"What?"

"Kidding," he laughed. "Maybe."

"Uh huh. So, have you told Bates about your decision?"

"Not yet." He had a feeling that Roger Bates was anticipating a phone call from him with that information anyway. "But he'll understand."

Bates had told him that maybe it was time for him to reinvent himself again, like he'd always done in the past. Kensi was right though - it was just a natural progression, the next step in his life. As usual, circumstances beyond his control were forcing his hand. But as always, he would approach it with a good attitude.

"Special Agent Marty Deeks," Kensi said dramatically. "It doesn't have the alliteration of Detective Deeks, but it has a nice ring to it, don'tcha think?"

Deeks smiled at his partner's enthusiasm. Another day, another title. It did sound pretty awesome, though. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wanted to finish this before the season finale so I could have a little bit of time before the show ruined any headcanons I might have. But since the finale is Callen centric, it looks like I will get to keep my ideas alive over the hiatus as well. :)


End file.
